Duvet
by VizardWizard
Summary: Draco wants a lighter. Harry wants an answer. HPDM AU


Three days into December and the weather was as cold as ever. Yet, for some reason, it hardly felt any closer to the hols than it had in July. Possibly, he mused rather chagrined, it had to do with the fact that he had no one to spend it with.

Some brave staff members had climbed up onto the rooftop of the school to string bright illuminations that seemed to stretch endlessly like a halo. It made the usually dim buildings look almost eerie in an odd sense that Harry spent too much time pondering over.

In fact, he spent too much time pondering over many things lately, to none of which he knew the answer. Maybe a little bit of fresh air would do him good, and then he'd see where it'd take him.

Luckily, it was a Saturday and he was able to step out of his apartment armed from the frigid wind in only a heavy coat, a scarf, and gloves. No briefcase. Not one slip of paper except for the crinkled bills in his wallet. He felt surprisingly free, and the sun shone.

He had neither destination nor purpose, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. They traipsed down 67th toward a busy, busy street full of cars and holiday shoppers. They bustled and weaved up and down the pavement like bees and worker ants and nobody really cared that they bumped shoulders with anyone else.

Harry tried to merge into the traffic of busybodies, but failed to keep his mouth shut from muttering an apology each time he knocked into someone. Of course no one even heard him, or turned to accept his apology.

Down a few more blocks on Columbus and past vast arrays of shops and windows that were sparkling with color and ribbons and other such decor. If Harry had had a reason to stop by, he might have liked to have a look, but as he didn't... he walked on.

Slowly, the aroma of freshly baked bread reached his nostrils. His stomach grumbled and his internal clock announced headily, that it was a brilliant time for lunch. He strolled the familiar blocks of ragged cement until he came to a large wooden sign hanging from a glass door that read, _'New World Coffee & Bagels'_, and yes, the smell was nearly overwhelming his taste buds. He pushed the door open and went in.

The shop was full to the brim with in-between-shopping lunchers. There would have been more space if there hadn't been as many colossal bags dangling from people's arms, and Harry felt slightly small in this jostling sea. He consciously squeezed his arms to his sides so that they wouldn't catch on anything and rip whatever it caught on. He imagined that would be catastrophic. The line inched forward.

Despite the length of the queue, he reached the counter in less than ten minutes, and ordered what he ordered whenever he ate there. An eggmit sesame bagel with mushrooms and bacon, and a medium house coffee. While they were making his food, he stood around on his toes, scanning over the heads of the crowds to find an empty chair, or better yet, a table. By the time his name was called and his bagel and coffee placed on the end of the counter, he'd spotted one in the far corner near the wood stove - not a table however - and hurried over to claim it before anyone else got to it. There was someone else already seated there at the table, but in a shop like this, sharing was the norm if you wanted to sit at all.

He quickly approached and cleared his throat at the lady occupying the first seat. "Sorry, is this chair taken?"

When the lady looked up from her reading and their eyes met, both their mouths split into grins.

"It's you! I mean, yes of course - I mean, no it's not taken. Go ahead!" the lady stammered, laughing.

"Thanks," Harry laughed too and seated himself without hesitation. "Wow," he said brightly. "We meet again."

"It's certainly a pleasant surprise," the lady smiled and slipped a bookmark into her book before setting it aside. "I never got your name before."

"Harry - Harry Potter," said Harry. "And I don't think I ever got yours either."

"I'm Cho," she said rather shyly.

"Hello Cho," Harry admired the slight rose in her cheeks. "So you like this place too?"

Cho nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, it's lovely. I experiment around quite a bit, but I always end up coming back here. That must mean something."

"Same with me," Harry agreed, upending a packet of brown sugar into his coffee and stirring it slowly. "Though I don't experiment much. Don't have the time to, unfortunately."

"Work?" Cho asked sympathetically.

"Yes, and lots of it. I'm a teacher at NYU, and you can imagine the copious amount of homework I have to grade each night. It can be rather terrifying sometimes."

"Oh but that sounds exciting, getting to educate bright, young minds and learning what they have to say."

Harry nodded. "If you put it that way, it can be very enlightening."

"I work at the Theodore Roosevelt Hospital. Mostly blood tests and checkups, but it's such a nice feeling to be able to help people in some way. We do all help one another, whether we realize it or not, don't you think?"

"I'd never really thought of work like that," Harry admitted thoughtfully, and it sparked a warm kind of feeling in him.

They talked for a good thirty minutes over coffee refills and then finally, when one of them looked at their watch and widened their eyes at the time, they decided to depart from the cafe. But not before they exchanged phone numbers and a suggested dinner in the near future.

Harry watched her until she disappeared into the swarm of bees.

On Monday it went like this:

He comes home from his afternoon classes and waits for Drake, all ready to head out. He keeps glancing at the clock on the wall and the minutes seem to tick by faster and faster. Being a mere minute late could cost him a train and then he, the teacher, would be tardy for sure.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the buzzer rings and he lets him in without even making sure that it's him, because he's one hundred percent sure it is and besides, he doesn't have the bloody time.

Of course he's right, and he lets Drake in before making a dash down the stairs and outside. He rechecks his watch and he's still got five minutes, he can sprint a few hundred meters in five minutes. He pumps his arms like an Olympian athlete, takes the staircase underground four at a time and nearly gets caught in the revolving gates, and finally, _finally,_ he's made it onto the platform with a stitch in his side and... the train's just left.

He swears loudly, kicks at the dirty wall, and hurts his toe.

Spare key, he gasps. Definitely need a spare key.

So the next day during his precious lunch hour, he went out to the smiths' and made a key. He even put a flashy red chain on it, just for keeps sake. And because Drake might appreciate it; he seemed to like red, after all.

He pocketed the key safely, and went on with the rest of his day as usual, occasionally dipping his hand into the back of his slacks, just to make sure. He wasn't being paranoid, or nervous. Not really. It was a move to make sure he could get to work on time, and a very responsible one at that.

However, when it came time to relieve Drake of his dog duties that night, he handed him his pay, and then hesitated - his hand in his pocket, fingering the chain of the spare key. Before he could even decide against handing the boy the key, he had left and Harry still had his hand in the back of his trousers like an idiot.

Twelve hours later, he decided quite firmly that he was done being an idiot, and to prove it to himself, he uncovered Cho's phone number from somewhere in his briefcase and dialed the number written on it in beautiful script. It was so beautiful that he had a hard time deciphering the figures.

He gulped and had to wipe his moist palms on his thighs when Cho answered and it took him a breath before he could tell her it was him, yes Harry, that one idiot she met at New World, but no, he was no longer an idiot. He couldn't help but be surprised when she agreed to go out on a dinner date with him the following Friday. They'd meet at Nobu, the fancy Japanese Cuisine on Hudson.

Formal attire. Right.

There was nothing he could do about it now. No stalling, no indecision. He took the chained spare in his hand and gripped it tight – tight enough to embed it into his palm – and headed home to where he hoped Drake would be waiting as usual.

Drake was fiddling with something at the kitchen table, and Harry thought it looked like a roll of film but he wasn't quite sure, and he beckoned to Drake. "I have a… an appointment tomorrow night, and I'll be gone for a few hours. Are you free?"

Drake tucked a strand of his bangs behind his ear and didn't nod or smile or do anything for that matter, but Harry had the slightest suspicion that he would refuse. Hastily, he added, "Of course there will be an additional pay for it, being sudden and all."

After a moment's silence, "Fine."

Harry cleared his throat significantly before opening his palm to reveal the treasure within. Drake just stared at it, uncomprehendingly. "It's a spare key. To this flat," Harry explained. "Thought I'd lend you one while you help me out. It would save a lot of time."

Drake didn't make a move to retrieve it, so Harry reached for his thin wrist, and placed the key in his pale hand. "I'm trusting you not to lose it," he said, serious.

Finally, the boy pocketed it swiftly, and glanced up. "Is it a date?"

"A what?" Harry asked, startled. "I mean… yeah. But that's none of your business."

Drake inclined his eyebrows but didn't say anything after that. Except to bid Sirius goodnight.

Harry felt slightly insulted.


End file.
